


Standing in the way of Justice

by Homer_TheBlindBard



Series: Rain on Me [2]
Category: The Batman (Movie 2021)
Genre: Admittedly Bad Riddles, F/M, Flashback to funeral scene, Flashbacks, M/M, Mob Meeting, Multi, Oswald is a smart cookie, Riddles, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27198400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Homer_TheBlindBard/pseuds/Homer_TheBlindBard
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Carmine Falcone, Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Series: Rain on Me [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971652
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

Falcone’s mansion stood high on top of the hill, ever visible above the rest of Gotham. Oswald got out of his dark purple car and climbed the path to enter the sharks’ cove.

Don Falcone had called a meeting, and when he did **you came calling**.

Oswald was checked at the foyer, as he had been for the past 15 of his 44 years on this earth and taken to the meeting room. There, inside the Gothic hall, was a long black ornate table and Gotham’s most notorious criminal underworld bosses seated around it.

“You’re late, Penguin.” – jibed Sal Moroni who was sitting next to Falcone, right where Oswald usually sat.

“I thought I’d keep your seat warm.” He smirked and shrugged.

On the opposite side sat Salina Kyle, Carmine’s new… ** _interest_**.

Of course, Oswald knew the real nature of their relationship, while the others speculated the two were consorts, Oswald knew the truth.

So, Oswald took the next free seat beside Selina **Falcone**.

Carmine greeted him with a nod, “Did you deal with our mutual problem, Mr. Cobblepot?”

Oswald interlaced his hands on top of the table and gave Falcone his full attention, “I did, Commissioner Loeb will continue to do as he’s told. He was just getting cold feet, that’s all. But my boys warmed them up.” He reported, cracking a little smile as his eyes darted back to Maroni.

He did enjoy one-upping the egotistical man.

“Good work. I can always rely on you to get the job done, Cobblepot.”

Maroni sniffed at that but wouldn’t dare say anything to the Don.

“Now then, to the matter I called you all here to discuss,” Falcone addressed the table of criminals, “as you all know there is a **freak** loose on the streets of Gotham. No, not the Batman, though he _still_ remains a problem. We all know who I mean.”

Falcone wasn’t purposefully being obstructive, he refused to call the serial killer by his token name- _ **the Riddler**_. See, in Falcone’s business, he felt you had to earn a nickname. Names held weight and respect. And he most certainly **did not** respect the Riddler.

Not after the funeral incident…

“He’s **severing** our connections to the offices of power in Gotham! He killed off the god damn Mayor, who we had neatly in our pocket, and now people are calling for Harvey Dent to run for the position! Now, how much trouble has Dent already made for us as DA?”

The table bristled at the mention of the do-gooder Dent. 

“Yeah, a lot of our guys are in Blackgate because of him. Commissioner Loeb almost stopped turning the other way on those last shipments ‘cause he was scared of this maniac’s justice jargon. He’s threated us –“ _**you mean you** \- _thought Oswald, “- directly. He must be stopped.”

There was a long pause in which people nodded and agreed that something **had** to be done. But Oswald knew it would, most likely, once again be him doing most of the ‘ _something_ ’.

“Of course, that’s not to say we can’t rectify these unfortunate developments. With Harvey’s attention on the mayoral seat, the position of DA is up for grabs, and my friend Gil Colson has his eyes on it. We help him, he helps us.” He explained as though some members of the table were too dense to understand. Which some were to be fair, thought Oswald.

“In the meantime, we work on taking _him_ down. Now, what have we found out about him?”

The table was silent, clearly this Riddler was an elusive figure, beyond his public displays of games and riddles, that was. Oswald wished he could keep _**his own**_ private life a secret, for one thing everyone knew what a downfall his family had taken.

"Nobody has any idea who this nut job could be!?" Falcone sounded like he couldn't, and wouldn't, believe it.

Oswald thought back to the day of the former Mayor’s funeral, during which, right as the bereaved family were mourning and the fakes feigned lamentation at the loss of another _innocent, good soul_ , a car smashed into the middle of the service and all hell broke loose. Oswald had been preoccupied in protecting Falcone and Miss Kyle, but a man inside the car got out, hands raised, a bomb strapped inside his mouth, and the speakers came on as the Riddler introduced himself and addressed the terrified crowd.

 **“Please stay? Take a seat. There _is_ a game to play.”** The Riddler’s contorted voice droned out.

Before anyone could escape and before Oswald could lead his employer out, the Riddler’s goons appeared, armed to the teeth and blocking the entranceways. But Oswald was most shocked by realization as he took in their uniforms, they were the same as the mysterious man’s who he’d bumped into earlier.

One of the green goons stepped forward, “Oh no, you don’t, Mr. Riddler wants especially for you to play his game, Mr. Falcone, Miss Kyle.”

“Oh yeah, I’m not invited then?” Oswald bit back.

Falcone remained calm though, “Please Mr. Cobblepot, let’s take our seats, and hear what the man has to say.”

He complied since there were too many to take on for Oswald and Falcone alone. Oswald kept his umbrella close, nonetheless.

He tried his phone and his radio to call for help but they had somehow cut the connection, which became clear when everyone was unable to use their phones to call the cops.

They went on to learn just how terrifying and tricky the Riddler was as he played his little game - a bait for the Batman, who never actually showed so that an irate Riddler had to suffice with Bruce Wayne and Falcone to answer the riddles within the envelope addressed to Batman. If they answered wrong or somebody other than the contestant shouted out an answer (apparently the Riddler hated cheaters), or tried to escape, he would blow the crooked official to pieces, however if they managed to answer all three riddles right, they would all walk out alive, including the hostage.

Falcone went first answering, overriding Wayne, in a ballsy (but ultimately doomed) attempt to assert his dominance into the situation and appear the hero.

**“Great! Let’s start with the easiest one.” sang the Riddler “What has many keys, but can’t even open a single door?”**

Oswald guessed easy enough - _the answer is a piano._

Falcone took a few seconds in which everybody prayed he would answer correctly, and the only sound was the whimpers and sobs of the Gothamites trapped inside. Oswald noticed Mrs. Mitchell clinging desperately to her husband’s coffin which had been knocked off its pedestal by the Riddler’s crashing car.

“A Piano.” Declared Falcone.

Falcone answered the riddle correctly, and everybody sighed in relief.

And then the weight of responsibility hung on Bruce Wayne’s shoulders.

**“Two cops walked into a room with no windows and found a dead man who _obviously_ hung himself from the ceiling, but they couldn't figure out _how_. There was no chair beneath him that he could have jumped off of, or a table. Nothing but a puddle of water. So, how did he do it?**

_He used a block of ice_ \- thought Oswald

Bruce took even less time than Falcone had to answer, “He stood on a block of ice until it melted.” He brooded.

When the Riddler announced that he was correct, the enthusiasm underneath that droning modified voice disappeared. Clearly, the riddles were supposed to be easy ones, but he had not counted on the two contestants being so decisive and quick with their answers. Usually people didn’t even **_try_** to answer.

Finally, the question intended for the Batman was posed to anybody that was willing to **_try_** _._

 **“Those were easy, this one though…, ill give you a minute to think about who you want to volunteer. Ah, and it can’t be Wayne or Falcone again**.”

Nobody was coming forward. All the governmental officials who knew the man strapped up for his death whimpered and clung to their partners. Silent. Falcone leered at them and mocked their cowardice. “What, your private education not cover riddle solving?” Scoffed Falcone. Time was running out as the Riddler’s voice whispered out in the eerie silence **“Tick, tock.”**

Nobody wanted to be responsible if they got the answer wrong, after all they would be guilty for the death of everybody present.

Well, Oswald didn’t much care for everybody else, but he did care for his own life and if nobody came forward then they would all die _anyway_. 

Oswald took the plunge.

He looked to Falcone who was holding Selina tight as she gripped her father’s arm. “Boss?” he asked.

Falcone took his meaning and nodded.

“My man, Oswald Cobblepot will answer your question!”

 ** _“The Penguin?”_** Questioned the Riddler.

_Great, even the guy obsessed with bloody riddles was making fun of him now._

Oswald stepped forward so that he could address the Riddler more directly. Oswald saw people, terrified people, looking at him and taking his appearance in.

 _They must believe they’re doomed already_ \- he thought.

Oswald didn’t want to recognize the mistrust in their eyes so he looked away and addressed the Riddler.

“Just ask your Riddle.” he called out, as stoically as he could.

There was a silence before the Riddler asked,

**“What has no ledger, no purse, no sheath for its blade.**

**But pen, coin, and point, thoughtfully weighed.**

**What can’t be reimbursed, but is a debt squarely paid?”**

Oswald’s first thought was that he didn’t frankly have a _fucking clue_ , and his already thumping heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t make sense of it since all he could hear was the sobbing of people, and he realized that maybe he had been wrong when he thought he didn’t give a fuck if anybody else here died. For all he tried to push it away and calm down, he did feel the insurmountable weight on his shoulders.

The only words in the riddle that stood out to him or that he remembered was something like “unsheathed blade and a debt squarely paid”. It sounded like revenge to him, and he’d lost the rest of the riddle. The Riddler had said he would only ask it once...

Oswald was prepared to answer “revenge” but then he remembered that the Riddler had intended this question to be posed to The Batman, and if the Riddler liked to do anything it was send a message.

A message about **_Just_** _ **ice**!_

It was one or the other, revenge or justice, and when the Riddler started to count down from 10, Oswald took the plunge.

 **“Justice.”** He announced to the room and everybody fell completely silent as they hung onto their partners and family, squeezing their eyes shut.

_Oswald was **definitely** going to hell if he had got this wrong._

The Riddler was silent, and Oswald looked to Falcone, who looked at him as though he had already resigned them all to the grave...

But then, the Riddler’s quiet voice came out as though he had been taken back for a second, “Yes,” and then it came louder and more robotic than before. “That is correct Mr. Cobblepot.”

Suddenly everybody let their held in breaths out and Falcone’s look of mistrust was as gone, as quick as he had doubted Oswald, as he put his hand on Oswald’s back and whispered “Thank God, Oswald."

Oswald sighed in relief as the adrenalin surging through him dipped somewhat, “Don’t thank him, thank me.” he joked breathlessly.

“Of course.” And Oswald could see a look of trust enter Falcone’s eye, like he’d never received before.

But that wasn’t the end of it.

The Riddler’s voice rang overhead, and Oswald felt a sense of doom descending.

 ** _"Justice!” -_** He sounded furious and almost like he was in pain, like he hated the word as he spat it out.

**“But you _‘people’_ should no better than anybody… There is _no_ justice in Gotham city!”**

And then before people could react, the bomb went off...

But it wasn’t as the Riddler implied. It was only a small one. Luckily, nobody other than the official died, people close **were** injured and Falcone made it out with minimal bruises since Oswald had been standing in front of him.

Oswald stumbled out with the running crowd (the Riddler’s goons had disappeared), coughing, as smoke tendrils filtered out and rose to the cloudy sky.

But as everybody ran away from the building, as Falcone got into his car and drove swiftly away, Oswald ran around to look over the back of the building, he saw nothing immediately, they had completely disappeared. He was about to make his own getaway as he heard the far-off police sirens finally ringing out, until he caught sight of a truck on top of the hill in the distance, standing still and watching the building smoke… and while It was hard to see he thought he could tell that it was dirty green colour.

**……**

Oswald was brought out of his reminiscing by Falcone’s present voice.

“Mr. Cobblepot, I don’t suppose you know anything about him, other than what we experienced?”

Oswald _should_ have said something, but he should have said it way before they were trapped inside the Riddler’s game that day, to reveal that he had talked to one of the goons, ignoring the fact that the guy could have been **the Riddler himself** , and not told Falcone of his suspicions would land him in big trouble. And he couldn’t pretend the guy hadn’t looked out of place to him, since that would make him look like an incompetent idiot.

The thing he couldn’t explain even to himself though was why he didn’t mention seeing the van on the hill.

“I thought I saw you head around the back of the hall. Did you see anything?”

Even more bizarre, when Oswald was given his chance to indebt himself even further with Falcone and one up Maroni again, he still didn’t give up the Riddler’s _mode of transport?_ He didn't understand why he did it yet, but he felt there **_was_** some subconscious reason for his reluctance and Oswald nearly always followed his gut.

“Nothing. They vanished.” He lied “But, It’s likely somebody who works or has worked in one of the offices before, the police maybe or the mayor’s office, somewhere you could get some of the information he has. Look at the answers to his Riddles, I suspect they each say something about his real identity. The second one was about a murder scene and I can see a smart guy like that working in the, say, forensic department." Oswald hazarded the guess. "I suspect he has an extensive team of help too, beyond the hired muscle we encountered. He’s a loner but he still needs to acquire the equipment and intel…”

“Damn Penguin didn’t know you were a psychotherapist, does that mean the guy also plays the piano in an orchestra?” Maroni quipped unhelpfully.

“Maroni." the Don warned. "Oswald has brought more to the table than you or any of your men have. And he saved my life. Selina’s life” …

After the meeting ended, and Moroni left last while shooting Oswald a venomous look, Oswald was kept behind, leaving him, the Don and Miss Kyle alone.

“Oswald, you have already done more than is expected by any employer. You saved my daughter’s life.”

Oswald was about to point out that the bomb went off regardless and would not have killed anyone other than the worthless crook attached to it, but the Don stopped him.

“I want you to deal with him”.

 _“Him_?” 

“When it comes to it and the police inevitably fail to catch him, we get him, and I’m going to let you take him out.”

Oswald was speechless. He really didn't know what to say.

“Those puffed up, so called civilised civilians of Gotham that watched you outsmart ‘ _The Riddler’_ were indebted to you, they would have handed you **_anything_** you asked for on a silver platter… Well, If that bomb hadn’t been intended to go off no matter what. After that they forgot you as quick as they judged you when you first stepped forward.”

Oswald looked at the Don, he was reminded that Falcone had been running this city’s underworld and parts of the so-called civilised word for the past two decades and knew Gothamites like the back of his hand.

“Yeah I saw how they looked at you. Just like how I looked at you when I doubted you for that second. And I saw how they looked at you when they thought you had saved their lives. I promise you; I won’t ever doubt you again” He said clasping Oswald’s shoulder. “When you take down the Riddler we do it in public, the word gets out, every crooked official in Gotham will be in your debt and the do-gooders _will also_ be in your debt.

Imagine, beating Jim Gordon at his own job.”

Now, Oswald had to admit he _**did**_ like the idea of that.

Hours later, by sunset, Oswald left the Falcone mansion, with the beginnings of a plan, and images of being a celebrated and respected member of Gotham. Having the gratitude of the offices of so-called power…

After all, with the Riddler gone, Falcone and the officials could place the empty positions into the laps of the unscrupulous once again.

But, at the same time, strangely, something about that left a sour taste in Oswald’s mouth,

something about it just didn’t feel like… **_justice._**


	2. Freedom

For the second time that week, and on a rare sunny day in Gotham, Oswald found himself at the beck and call of Carmine Falcone. As he climbed the familiar rocky path up to the grand gothic manor he imagined what it would feel like to just tell Falcone to _go fuck himself_ , get someone else to do his dirty work. Get someone else to stand in front of a bullet for him. Oswald had his own plans and ambitions, his own problems to deal with without the added stresses Falcone placed on him. Since their last talk Oswald realized what an idiot he had been, Falcone had had him eating up his bullshit about ‘ _making the Cobblepots respected again’._ What the Don really wanted to do was make Oswald deal with the Riddler problem and all he’d had to do to get Oswald to agree was butter up his ego. In fact, it made Oswald cringe to think that he was so transparent. After all, it seemed, everybody knew that what Oswald Cobblepot wanted more than anything, more than money or fame, was respect, to be treated with an ounce of dignity, without having to threaten anybody, lest they mention that ridiculous nickname that was thrown at him by people who couldn’t actually harm him in any substantial capacity. More than anything, it made him wonder _why_ he continued to be the Don’s errand boy. What was he getting out of this relationship, that Maroni, for all his disrespect and laziness, didn’t also receive? Falcone liked to pat Oswald on the back, and he didn’t call him “The Penguin” like some of the others, he had said that he would never doubt Oswald again. But underneath all that Oswald knew, he knew that the Kingpin wouldn’t shed a single tear if Oswald was killed. As an underling Oswald had seen criminals rise from the bottom to the top, most didn’t last long, their reigns were short and rarely strong enough to even leave any evidence of their presence. Only a few lasted a while. These were the ones that Oswald had observed, they all had weaknesses and even though they hid them well, Falcone had always discovered them. He used them to manipulate and bribe and was ruthless in executing any that had seriously threatened him. Oswald felt himself at a critical juncture, he was walking on ice and would have to feel for the dense parts to navigate his way safely. Falcone knew his soft spots, his propensity to act emotionally when pushed to make a quick decisions and his desire for respect and praise that, though he tried to hide on his face, came out through his exceptional work ethic and effort when given a task to complete. Like a dog running after the ball his master threw, he sucked up the praise he received from a job well done. Right now, Oswald was an asset to Falcone but once things were straightened out and Falcone could survive, nay thrive, without Oswald, Falcone could take away his support. Especially if he thought Oswald was getting too powerful, Oswald did have a large number of thugs on his payroll, which could be seen as a threat, since he made a lot controlling the docks, and his Iceberg Lounge business raked in a good amount of cash. All this, while making a small fortune, though, wasn’t comparable to the money Falcone made controlling large swathes of Gotham’s businesses and the elusive drug trade he profited off of. _Although,_ Oswald smiled to himself, _I sort of control a bit of that myself, after all, the drugs go through **my** docks._

With these thoughts running through his head, he reached the top of the hill and knocked on the front door. Usually a guard would answer quickly but now nobody came to open the great doors. Oswald knocked again, even louder this time. No answer. Oswald tried the bell and promised that if nobody answered he would have to force his way inside. Something was **not** right. Still, nobody answer answered. Oz looked through the windows and the house seemed completely dead inside. He circled the manor until he noticed a window on the second floor was open. Oswald scaled the brick wall; he may not be as slim as he used to be, but he was still extremely agile and strong. He peered through the window making sure it was empty before sliding in.

He took out his gun and treaded lightly down the hallway, he looked down past the banister into the foyer. There was no sign of life, or death. No blood, no sign of a fight or struggle. Even when Falcone was away, he kept guards on duty. No, something was wrong. Oswald got his radio out, ready to call in his men, when he heard a shriek. Yet it wasn’t a shriek of pain or fear, it sounded more like a shriek of joy or … _excitement?_ It had come from the meeting room. He took a few slow steps down the stairs, listening for another noise, but it didn’t come. Oswald pressed the radio to contact his guys but found that there was no signal. It had been scrambled. He tried his phone, that didn’t work either. Oswald put two and two together. He was dealing with the Riddler.

_Fuck._

Oswald reached the door to the meeting hall, he listened close but there was no sign of life inside.

He held his gun out and kicked the doors wide open.

The sight that greeted him looked so out of place from the room he had been called to for the past 15 years that it took Oswald a second to react and even notice the man sitting atop the table, casually lounging, one arm propping himself up as the other twirled a gun. The Riddler, wearing a dirty blood-stained outfit and mask. On the floor in front of him was a pool of blood which trailed away to a stack of bodies thrown in the corner. The long table had been turned 90 degrees so that on one end, on Oswald left, tied up and trussed, knocked out cold, sat Carmine Falcone, and on the right, likewise incapacitated, was Selina Kyle.

Oswald didn’t think, he’d already wasted precious seconds as it was, while the Riddler played with his own gun, Oswald pointed his and pulled the trigger.

But nothing happened. Oswald pulled again and still no action. “What the-!?”

“I think you’ll find ya got no bullets!” came a slightly muffled but perky voice from underneath the mask. Not at all like the Riddler’s modified voice. But it was, nonetheless, immediately recognisable to Oswald’s ears.

“You?!” He exclaimed.

The Riddler gave a little embarrassed shrug and laugh like a hiccup.

Oswald checked the barrel and found no bullets; he still had the knifes in his boots though.

But then the Riddler levelled his gun at Oswald and said “What? Don’t I seem the type?”

Oswald froze. He couldn’t escape a bullet, but he could try and delay it.

“I don’t know, I can’t remember your face. Why don’t you take that hood off and I’ll tell you?”

“Oh, please!” He scoffed “You remember me, sure enough!” he said cocking the gun to one side and then leaning forward to sit on the edge of the table, playfully swinging his legs underneath. “I know when people are lying, and I don’t like it one bit, Mr. Cobblepot!”

Oswald didn’t know what to do or say, truthfully, all he knew was that this guy had managed to capture Carmine Falcone in his own house and his daughter, the Catwoman, too. Not to mention the pile of dead that Oswald realized was mostly members of the Falcone mob, people like Oswald. There was likely no escaping through physicality alone, if there was any escape at all.

“Please call me Oswald.” He offered politely instead.

“Well, that’s very nice of you Oswald. Those guys” he scoffed, pointing to the corner with his gun,” were so rude, that they never even made it to the good bit!”

“And what’s the good bit?”

“Straight to the point, I like that! You’re going to help me prove a point.”

“And what is the point?”

“Well I’m not giving all my secrets away! Not to a guy I just met anyway.” He said bashfully.

The Riddler sauntered around to the back of Falcone and took out a cloth from his pocket, he shoved it under Falcone’s nose who woke up startled and disorientated. Oswald had never seen him look so _vulnerable_.

Then the Riddler went around Selina and did the same to wake her, even as Falcone threated to make him pay for touching his daughter.

Oswald was amazed that **he** wasn’t tied up with duct tape already, and was wondering why exactly when the Riddler jumped back on the table and stood right in the middle, arms extended out.

“Right! Its game time!” He announced jovially.

“Maybe you would enjoy the game even more if you took of that mask?” Offered Oswald.

“Y’know, that’s actually a good idea," He nodded, "this silly thing fogs up worse than my glasses!”

He ripped of his mask and shook his head, the dirty blond hair falling down in curly waves.

“Ah, that’s much better!”

“Now, this is how the game goes. Oswald here is the card dealer and he has three starting cards! One represents death” He laid out some bullets on the table. “Another represents loss” He put down a knife. “And the last, that one represents freedom!” and he took a bow, pointing to the door behind Oswald. “AKA, you walk free from here, unharmed.”

"Oswald, You can choose any of the cards you like, but it you pick the freedom card then the other two have to take the other two cards respectively, of course you choose which ones to whom!"

"But! Because I’m really a nice guy, if you pick the loss card, and that means getting a few fingers bloody if you know what I mean, then you earn another freedom card! Yay, and then the other two can walk free! Of course if you were feeling suicidal you could pick the death card for yourself, though I don’t know why… and I wouldn’t really like that ending." He said sadly.

"Anyway, ready to play?" He asked though didn't wait for an answer. "Good. You have 7 minutes to discuss! Go!"

Selina wasted no time - “Take the loss card, c’mon, I'll buy you a new hand, look at it as a chance to get rid of that useless slipper.”

Falcone quickly intercepted, “Selina! Oswald, I will make it worth the pain, I promise.” He tried to lean forward, to make some connection.

Oswald thought about it, this was a chance to finally figure things out.

“What can you offer me?”

“Money, more money than you could imagine, I'll get you properly into the drugs cut. And the respect you deserve as a Cobblepot, Salvatore Maroni wont dare insult you ever again.”

“Oh yeah? Well, if it’s the respect I deserve, why aint I been getting it before now. Why should I shed a drop of blood from my **_flipper_** for you?”

Falcone was sweating profusely now “Jesus, Selina why did you say that? Apologize.”

Selina grimaced, “Sorry, Mr. Cobblepot, please, we will reward you. I will also be in your debt.”

But Oswald didn’t frankly care for anything that Selina could give him.

“Just answer me this Carmine, would you do the same, to save my life? Would you show up maimed in front of the table, show up weak, to save **_my_** life?”

“Of course, I would! You know how much I owe you, after you’ve already saved us.”

Oswald scoffed, “You know I didn’t save you, and you only keep me around to do your dirty work! You would save your fucking handkerchief before you held out a hand for me!”

 _“_ No. I would save you Oswald. I swear.” And although Oswald was boiling, the way that the Don had said that made Oswald feel he wasn’t sure anymore, a part of him wanted to believe it, another didn’t so that he could just let this bastard die. So he turned away, he pushed down his anger and thought logically about it. He turned to the Riddler, who had been enjoying the show, making little noises of delight and dramatic gasps all the way through.

“Mr. Riddler, may I call you that? You said you can always tell if someone is lying. Now I think its fair to say I’ve played by all your rules so far, so I hope it wouldn’t be wrong of me to ask you for a clue?”

The Riddler gave a little squeak of excitement.

“Oh, I think I don’t mind giving you a hint, just this once!”

He leaned forward to whisper into Oswald ear. If Oswald wanted, he could try to stab him or tackle the gun from his hands, the guy was skinny underneath the suit, but he wanted to know - _was Falcone lying?_

The Riddler told him the truth and Oswald looked from Falcone, to Selina and to his own hand…

“Kill Falcone and maim the cat.” He decided coldly.

“Yes!” clapped the Riddler

Oswald’s head was swimming, he couldn’t quite believe himself.

“You’ll fucking pay for this!” Selina bit.

“Don’t you dare harm my daughter, I wi-“

But Falcone didn’t get to finish his sentence before the Riddler grabbed the chopping knife from his side and swung it down in an arch to cut off the cat’s claws.

Selina looked dazed at the sight of her bleeding digit-less hand.

“Dad?” she looked up at Falcone as he was fading from her vision.

But what came next was a bigger surprise.

“No, Selina. I’m not your father.”

“Oh,” the Riddler paused even as he picked up the gun to presumably shoot the Don “Well, that was an unexpected development.”

“What-“ Selina tried to ask before she fainted from all the blood loss.

Then the Riddler knocked Falcone out with the butt of the gun.

“I thought you were going to kill him!?” Asked Oswald, scandalized.

“I am, but not here, not now! I need to send a message, I'll let you know when it’s done though, I’ll call you!” And he was already taping Falcone up again to take into his van and do god knows what.

“And how exactly, am I going to explain the Don’s disappearance?”

“Oh, well. Selina, will be out for a few days I bet, and I killed most of his dudes, so I’d say you’re good for a few days, I made sure to pick his meeting-free week, nobody will notice he’s gone until you call it in! And then I guess you can take over or whatever.” He added as though he didn’t care.

“And how do I know this is the last time you try and kill me with those riddles, eh? If you hate criminals and the corrupt, you should hate me.”

“I don’t hate you! You’re nothing like Falcone, or Mitchell, Or Colson!”

“How aren’t I?”

“You don’t lie, you’re honest.”

“I lie all the time.”

“But you're honest about lying, and you answer my riddles too.”

“I guess," Oswald was somewhat baffled by the logic though. "better the devil you know?”

“Right.”

“Can I leave now then?”

“Yes. Goodbye.” The Riddler was now too preoccupied taping up Selina’s hand with duct tape and probably with planning what ever was instore for the doomed Don.

Oswald walked away, hoping that was the last time he would be at the mercy of the Riddler and his games.

But if he were honest, he also kind of hoped it wouldn’t be the last time that they met at all.

After all, this man may have just handed Oswald everything he had been waiting for, not only since he came back to Gotham, but since he was born.

And to think he didn’t even know the Riddler's real name yet.


End file.
